Reviews and how to keep your sanity

Most art forms comes from within; eventually released like a fledgling and leave the nest. The emancipation is not without anticipation, and the artist, if they want it or not, will find their work reviewed. And when this occurs, each individual artist must call upon their inner self; for criticism can be like a finding a flower and then suddenly getting stung by a bee.

On the other hand……Just remember… reviews are like a storms; some hurt the ego, while others appear like a rainbow.

#Thankyou @readersfavorite for my rainbow!

Esteemed thinker: Christopher D. Morley

cherry flowers changing The earth is most ingenious; for her ability to transform herself is akin to our flipping over the days on the calendar. For example, it was only a week or so ago that she celebrated the spring equinox (although somewhat arbitrary depending upon which side of the hemisphere you live) This is an occasion, when put into scientific terms, marks that special moment when the sun crosses the celestial equator going from south to north. At the equinox, Earth’s two hemispheres are receiving the sun’s rays equally…day and nights are approximately equal in length. Hence we get the word equinox from the Latin aequus (equal) and nox (night).

But for earth… this is really just a wardrobe crisis; much like hanging up one’s suit of clothes and exchanging it for another. Here the winter apparel has been put into storage and out comes the spring attire, which to our delight is much more colorful and often rather bold. For like those designers that dictate to us what colors are now “in”, so does Mother Nature play couturier with the seasons, choosing which blooms will festoon the trees and shrubs.

So, now the sun rises earlier, the flowers are sprouting, and the days are getting longer. So it seems that we have more time, an illusion created to fool us into believing that the 24 hours allocated are now more!

Christopher Darlington Morley_ Today’s blog introduces the esteemed thinker: Christopher D. Morley (1890-1957), a clever and prolific American journalist, novelist, playwright, and poet. Born in Haverford, PA, he was a Harvard Graduate. Morley wrote for the New York Evening Post (1920-1923) and the Saturday Review of Literature (1924-1941), which he helped found. Out of his keenness for the Sherlock Holmes stories, Morley helped found a group of Holmes enthusiasts, the Baker Street Irregulars. His 1939 novel Kitty Foyle, was made into an Academy Award-winning movie.

Here to brighten your day with a bit of wit and reminder of the vernal equinox and spring; from his book Mince Pie, I bring you the words of Christopher Morley.

“ Once a year, about the approach of the vernal equinox or the seedsman’s catalogue, we wake up at 6 o’clock in the morning. This is an immediate warning and apprisement that something is adrift. Three hundred and sixty-four days in the year we wake, placidly enough, at seven-ten, ten minutes after the alarm clock has jangled. But on this particular day, whether it be the end of February or the middle of March, we wake with the old recognizable nostalgia. It is the last polyp or vestige of our anthropomorphic and primal self, trailing its pathetic little wisp of glory for the one day of the whole calendar. All the rest of the year we are the plodding percheron of commerce, patiently tugging our wain; but on that morning there wambles back, for the nonce, the pang of Eden. We wake at 6 o’clock; it is a blue and golden morning and we feel it imperative to get outdoors as quickly as possible. Not for an instant do we feel the customary respectable and sanctioned desire to kiss the sheets yet an hour or so. The traipsing, trolloping humor of spring is in our veins; we feel that we must be about felling an aurochs or a narwhal for breakfast. We leap into our clothes and hurry downstairs and out of the front door and skirmish round the house to see and smell and feel.

It is spring. It is unmistakably spring, because the pewit bushes are budding and on yonder aspen we can hear a forsythia bursting into song. It is spring, when the feet of the floorwalker pain him and smoking-car windows have to be pried open with chisels. We skip lightheartedly round the house to see if those bobolink bulbs we planted are showing any signs yet, and discover the whisk brush that fell out of the window last November. And then the newsboy comes along the street and sees us prancing about and we feel sheepish and ashamed and hurry indoors again…”

Joseph Conrad and authors

book store poster When we are young we were taught that humans are equipped with five senses: sight, taste, smell, touch, and hearing. A gift that we take for granted each day. There are some who believe that they are more sensitive or partial to one of the senses, whereupon we may say that a person is more visual, or more auditory, kinesthetic, etc.

And then there are places where one of our senses are deliberately heightened; the symphony beckons our sense of hearing, the baker attacks our olfactory, and the museum seduces our visual, the ballet virtually gets us up off our feet. Those who are creators of music, culinary delights, the visuals, the movements, all such artists are invested in the production of simulating specific senses.

But then there is the lonely author, the person who seems to be much like the outlier in a mathematical problem. This is the one among the artists who is requested by the reader to stimulate all the senses; for as a recipient of their work don’t we challenge them to show us the location of the story, demand entry into the emotions of the characters, hear their voices, taste their meals, feel the path beneath their feet as they walk, and journey in a manner that although we are sitting in a chair we are at the same time traveling across an ocean…. It is a most daunting task succinctly all packaged in what we know as a book.

And this is what the author must abide to for like an adult leads a child; the writer must lead the reader so that he or she is left satisfied in a way that it wishes to return for more…

Joseph-Conrad_new_image Today’s blog invites back the esteemed author: Joseph Conrad (1857-1924). His work was often characterized as adventurous and darkly pessimistic, with traditional qualities of commitment and courage. His young adult life as a merchant seaman took him around the world, whereby he later fictionalized his early in his novels such as Heart of Darkness. Conrad was not a stranger to other literary greats and was friendly with Henry James, H.G. Wells, Ford Madox Ford.

From his book, Notes on Life and Letters, Mr. Conrad will now take us into the very private world of the writer, a novelist to be more precise… I present him to you now in hopes that you will take a few moments out of your harried day.

“… The art of the novelist is simple. At the same time it is the most elusive of all creative arts, the most liable to be obscured by the scruples of its servants and votaries, the one pre-eminently destined to bring trouble to the mind and the heart of the artist. After all, the creation of a world is not a small undertaking except perhaps to the divinely gifted. In truth every novelist must begin by creating for himself a world, great or little, in which he can honestly believe. This world cannot be made otherwise than in his own image: it is fated to remain individual and a little mysterious, and yet it must resemble something already familiar to the experience, the thoughts and the sensations of his readers. At the heart of fiction, even the least worthy of the name, some sort of truth can be found—if only the truth of a childish theatrical ardour in the game of life, as in the novels of Dumas the father. But the fair truth of human delicacy can be found in Mr. Henry James’s novels; and the comical, appalling truth of human rapacity let loose amongst the spoils of existence lives in the monstrous world created by Balzac.

The pursuit of happiness by means lawful and unlawful, through resignation or revolt, by the clever manipulation of conventions or by solemn hanging on to the skirts of the latest scientific theory, is the only theme that can be legitimately developed by the novelist who is the chronicler of the adventures of mankind amongst the dangers of the kingdom of the earth. And the kingdom of this earth itself, the ground upon which his individualities stand, stumble, or die, must enter into his scheme of faithful record. To encompass all this in one harmonious conception is a great feat; and even to attempt it deliberately with serious intention, not from the senseless prompting of an ignorant heart, is an honourable ambition. For it requires some courage to step in calmly where fools may be eager to rush. As a distinguished and successful French novelist once observed of fiction, “C’est un art trop difficile…”

First image:a poster The Bookman-artist: Flagg, James Montgomery, 1877-1960, Date Created: New York:1896

Samuel Johnson and think time

the thinker So extraordinary is our brain, it works relentlessly, never resting, always on the go; a thankless job. For how often do people go out of their way to pamper their feet with a pedicure, their hands with a manicure, their backs and shoulders with a message, and then their skin with a facial. Yet our sleepless brain only gets ridiculed in a way that it is called rather unpleasant names such as “dumb” or “loser”; it is even the subject of books that claim techniques to make it smarter or perform more proficiently. Yet, all it asks for is a place to lie down at night without being disturbed…and even under the most tranquil of conditions it continues to manufacture pictures and stories…our dreams. And then, are we satisfied? Oh, no! We complain that we had such a poor night’s rest because we “had a bad dream…even a nightmare!”

Alas…our brains continue to work at a feverish pitch but still we become impatient when ideas or answers do not come as quickly as we would like, although the remedy is quite simple… all we really need to do is give ourselves “think time”; a concept that was once exemplified as being even prestigious… so-much-so that people would gather together under the guise of being “a think tank”… allowing groups to ponder and contemplate problems without being ridiculed for being too slow. Today our brains are expected to manipulate information and multi-task even without taking into effect that the poor thing has not changed in composition nor evolved as fast as technology. It can only work as effectively as it always has done in the past, for the more we hurry the less accurate we become.

Slip into any social situation where there is a group of people and often the person who is the loudest and responds the fastest appears to demonstrate leadership qualities that others like to be around. The person who can spin a good tale, tell a joke well, or spout facts like a game of jeopardy often holds an advantage position. But do not despair if you are not firing back as though playing a match of ping pong; for in the game of chess to “checkmate” requires patience and think time.

samuel johnson 2 For today’s blog I bring back our esteemed thinker: Samuel Johnson, the 18th century English writer, critic, and man of tolerance. His writings covered subjects as varied as theatre, biography, politics, religion, travel, French, Latin, Greek, and Italian translations; as well as America, censorship, taxation, and slavery.

I invite you now to take a few moments of your valuable time and tap into some thoughts from his essay titled “Conversation”. I present to you the astute words of Dr. Johnson….

“None of the desires dictated by vanity is more general, or less blamable than that of being distinguished for the arts of conversation. Other accomplishments may be possessed without opportunity of exerting them, or wanted without danger that the defect can often be remarked: but as no man can live, otherwise than in an hermitage, without hourly pleasure or vexation, from the fondness or neglect of those about him, the faculty of giving pleasure is of continual use. Few are more frequently envied than those who have the power of forcing attention wherever they come, whose entrance is considered as a promise of felicity, and whose departure is lamented, like the recess of the sun from northern climates, as a privation of all that enlivens fancy, or inspires gaiety…

It is apparent, that to excellence in this valuable art, some peculiar qualifications are necessary: for every one’s experience will inform him, that the pleasure which men are able to give in conversation, hold no stated proportion to their knowledge or their virtue…no style of conversation is more extensively acceptable than the narrative. He who has stored his memory with slight anecdotes, private incidents, and personal peculiarities, seldom fails to find his audience favourable… “

* first photograph: The Thinker by French artist Auguste Rodin (1840-1917)

A.A. Milne and titles

milne As time goes by the meaning of everyday words can change. Let’s take the word branding as an example. According to its etymology this word originates way back to the Old English when it was defined as: burning, a burning piece of wood or torch. However, to the 21st century ear a brand ( used as a noun) is the idea or image marketed to a particular service or product. Branding (used as a verb) is equated with a marketing strategy of creating a name or symbol that identifies that product from others. If the branding is successful then the consumer identifies and differentiates your product, hopefully, in a favorable light.

So why all this blogging about branding and brand…well let’s think about the author…how he or she consciously or unconsciously uses branding…. I would have to say the initial “impression” we wish our readers find appealing or attractive is established first by way of the title. After all, that is really the first thing that sets off a piece from another. Considerable time is spent trying to come up with that perfect title, the one that defines your story with just enough of a subtle nudge to get someone interested. If however you are already a household-name author, such as Stephen King, you have already established your “brand” and c’est la vie…you will not lie awake at night trying to come up with that wit or metaphor embedded in your title that literally screams off the shelf or wows the reader.

So, today I bring back A.A. Milne …yes, the same guy who wrote Winnie –the- Poo…but let me remind you that he has many other titles under his belt…who has written a clever piece that will give you a smile or a nod of “yes, I get it” regarding titles. Here is a sampling of his essay “Labels” neatly extracted from his book titled, “Not that it Matters.”

bookshelf blk and white

The Labels

“….I have been reading the titles of the books. That is not so good (or bad) as reading the books themselves, but it enables me to say that I have heard of such and such a novel, and in some cases it does give me a slight clue to what goes on inside.

I should imagine that the best part of writing a novel was the choosing a title. My idea of a title is that it should be something which reflects the spirit of your work and gives the hesitating purchaser some indication of what he is asked to buy. To call your book Ethnan Frame or Esther Grant or John Temple or John Merridew (I quote from the index) is to help the reader not at all. All it tells him is that one of the characters inside will be called John or Esther—a matter, probably, of indifference to him…

But if you don’t call your book Phyllis or John Temple or Mrs. Elmsley, what—I hear you asking—are you to call it? Well, you might call it Kapak, as I see somebody has done. The beauty of Kapak as a title is that if you come into the shop by the back entrance, and so approach the book from the wrong end, it is still Kapak. A title which looks the same from either end is of immense advantage to an author…

Another mystery title is The Man with Thicker Beard, which probably means something. It is like Kapak in this, that it reads equally well backwards; but it is not so subtle. Still, we should probably be lured on to buy it. On the other hand, A Welsh Nightingale and a Would-be Suffragette is just the sort of book to which we would not be tempted by the title. It is bad enough to have to say to the shopman, “Have you A Welsh Nightingale and a Would-be Suffragette?” but if we forgot the title, as we probably should, and had to ask at random for a would-be nightingale and a Welsh suffragette, or a wood nightingale and a Welsh rabbit, or the Welsh suffragette’s night in gaol, we should soon begin to wish that we had decided on some quite simple book such as Greed, Earth, or Jonah.

And this is why a French title is always such a mistake. Authors must remember that their readers have not only to order the book, in many cases, verbally, but also to recommend it to their friends. So I think Mr. Oliver Onions made a mistake when he called his collection of short stories Pot au Feu. It is a good title, but it is the sort of title to which the person to whom you are recommending the book always answers, “What?” And when people say “What?” in reply to your best Parisian accent, the only thing possible for you is to change the subject altogether. But it is quite time that we came to some sort of decision as to what makes the perfect title. Kapak will attract buyers, as I have said, though to some it may not seem quite fair. Excellent from a commercial point of view, it does not satisfy the conditions we laid down at first. The title, we agreed, must reflect the spirit of the book. In one sense Five Gallons of Gasolene does this, but of course nobody could ask for that in a book-shop…”